I was sweeping and mopping in the kitchen this afternoon, and I found a small edible stuck to the floor, the likes of which I don’t even recall buying or stocking in the pantry. It was normal to find mysterious “food things” on the floor when Rowan was a wee sprite, but he’s got his own place now. I know Skitter hasn’t brought any edible trophies into the house, because she would be too afraid to touch a food that I didn’t personally give her. Anyhoo… During my sweeping today, I found a tiny unidentifiable blob on the floor under the kitchen island. I am not going to stress out about where it came from and who might have dropped it there. I’m going to forget it completely, figuring Suzanne recently ate something and a sliver of it got away from her—depositing itself where it wasn’t visible to anyone until I did the bigly sweep.
I impart to you all of this information to help paint a picture of how a freaky blob turned me all teary and nostalgic for our long-departed canine, Roxy Lou—as seen with me here in the accompanying photograph from 2008. Back when Roxy was on floor patrol, sweeping in the kitchen was a cinch for me. Why? Because Roxy was our Hoover. She was our Electrolux, our Oreck, our Shark. She was our Roomba. In her younger years, I swear, she could hear a crumb falling from the counter and be stationed right under it with her choppers open to catch it before it even hit the floor. Our floors sparkled effortlessly with Roxy on the job. Of course, she did become the fattest mini-dachsie in the world, but she was happy. As she slowed down in her old age—and got whoa! wider, she didn’t even try to beat the occasional cooking crumbs and scraps which fell to the floor. She knew darn well that whatever was falling would be untouched on the floor when she waddled over to claim it. While cooking, I sometimes let things fall to the floor on purpose, just to watch Roxy at her anteater-like work.
I am proud to say that the beauteous Roxy Lou was an equal opportunity eater, which amused us to no end. We’ve always had dogs, but only Roxy hoovered every edible thing. A fallen watermelon rind? Roxy ate it. A dropped banana peel? Roxy ate it. A stray piece of cauliflower or broccoli from the cutting board? Roxy devoured it and wanted more. I gave her a pickle once, just to see what she would do. Without batting a sour eye, Roxy gobbled it up with doggie glee. Near the end of her days on earth, when she only had three teeth left in her ancient mouth, she hoovered a few fallen chopped onion fragments. I can report that the onion improved the smell of her stinky breath by leaps and bounds.